So Don't Let Me Down
by DarkPhoenixIncarnate
Summary: Oneshot! Bubbline! "So what'd you say this stuff was?" Marceline's voice, her breath is suddenly close enough that it fans across her cheek, close enough that she can catch the boredom beneath the curiosity, the flirtatious hitch beneath the teasing.


The shadow bleeds across her worktable _just_ as she begins tilting the vial containing, what she's mentioned _multiple_ times, is a _highly volatile_ liquid into a beaker. A sigh sounds out somewhere above her, overloud in the otherwise tense silence, a sigh that accompanies restless movement she can spot in the peripherals of her vision but Bonnibel ignores it as resolutely as she can. Pretends it doesn't exist and chews the inside of her cheek because if she messes this up, if she mixes more than just _one_ drop of this stuff together…

Well, catastrophe would be putting it lightly. Which is enough to make her hunch over the table, eyes narrowed as she devotes all her focus to the task, she dare not do anything else, dare not _breathe._

"So what'd you say this stuff was?"

Marceline's voice, her _breath_ is suddenly close enough that it fans across her cheek, close enough that she can catch the boredom beneath the curiosity, the flirtatious hitch beneath the teasing. It's enough to make her shriek in surprise, enough to make her fumble, her heart stopping for one single horrifying second as she stars at the liquid sloshing in the vial, and it's sheer _dumb luck_ that she manages to right her hand in time before more than that single drop of it could spill.

Her heart rate spikes so fast it nearly has her reeling, panic centers all lit up and she can almost see it now, her entire kingdom engulfed in flames, her own biomass melted away into nothing but bubbling _goo._ Her hand is trembling as she presses a stopper into the vial, setting it in its proper place before rounding on Marceline, fists clenched tight, yelling louder than she has in a long time. " _Are you out of your mind? Do you realize what you could have done!?"_

She's glaring up at the Vampire Queen with everything she has, but glare as she might the only reply she receives is a continuation of that raucous laughter that started, she realizes belatedly, the moment she shrieked. Marceline's entire body is trembling with the force of her amusement and for a moment Bonnibel is _incredibly_ tempted to have her thrown in the dungeons.

…But she's tempted to do a lot of things she'll never actually allow herself to, so instead she just purses her lips, forces in a deep breath through her nostrils to try calming her jittering nerves and turns back to her work table. Well, she won't be able to continue _that_ experiment today, that's for sure.

Still she _had_ managed to get that single drop to fall in the beaker, and the results _do_ look promising so she does her best to ignore the continuing giggles above her, does her best to quell her racing pulse and lingering panic. She inhales another deep breath through her nose again before leaning closer, absently reaching for her pad and a writing implement to document the reaction. Initially the liquid in the beaker had been a lime green, but now it's darkened to a deep purple that foams up and nearly overtakes the glass rim.

She mutters under her breath as she records her findings, then covers the beaker and sets it aside to sit overnight. Her nerves are still jittery, pulse still elevated and her best chance of calming down is to focus on something else so she pulls open one of the drawers on her work bench and retrieves a relatively decent sized machine she found buried in some wreckage in one of her scavenging hunts. She sees herself reflected back in the surface of the screen, sees a hint of pale skin and quickly turns it over. This is the first screen of it's kind that she's found in _years_ that wasn't cracked or damaged in some way, and that could be invaluable.

So, continuing to ignore her uninvited guest, who floats around and above the table with newfound curiosity, she finds her screwdriver and begins tinkering with the object as carefully as she can, wanting that screen and any other useful components that may be hidden within.

"Sooo, Bonnie. Now that you're done with your little science project, wanna hang out?"

The grunt she gives in reply is non-committal at best, her hands busy as she sets the screwdriver down and pulls open the back. She doesn't even consider saying yes to the offer still pretty livid at her near death experience, all at the hands of the bored vampire above her.

"Bonnieeee…" That shadow continues blot out the lights of her workshop, long black hair tickling at the edges of her vision and her hold on her prize nearly slips. A fresh wave of irritation slides through her, seeps into her voice. "No thank you Marceline, I'm quite busy."

"Psh, doing what, messing around with junk?"

The urge to glare up at her, square her shoulders and tell her indignantly that this is _not_ junk, thank you very much, is almost too strong to ignore. She has to bite her cheeks, force in another slow breath. "Yes." Is what she grinds out, setting the backing of the object and the object itself down carefully and peering inside.

Though the item was unblemished on the outside, the _inside_ has seen better days. The microchips seem to all be scorched, the wires connecting them together frayed. It's a wonder that the screen itself wasn't damaged, but she's more concerned that the touch capabilities, if that was indeed what this object was used for, would have been burned away as well, rendering it useless.

She'll have to figure some way to test it out.

And she's just about to do that except she's stopped by a curtain of black hair falling atop the table, obstructing her hands. The locks are smooth, amazingly soft, _familiar_ as they slide between her fingers, and it takes more effort than she'd ever willingly admit not to stroke at those strands, to grip at them or twine her fingers through them.

A heaviness comes to her throat that she has to swallow down, has to fight away along with the flush that threatens to rise on her cheeks and she's looking up, only to find Marceline's face directly before hers, upside down with her forked tongue pressed between sharp teeth.

"Aww, come on Bonnie, I promise I'm much more fun than this old stuff."

Bubblegum keeps her expression neutral, bites back any comments about personal space, and doesn't even bother asking her to leave. Not like Marceline _would._ Maybe.

Well, she might, ifthe request were worded a certain way, if she were purposely cruel.

Ifshe brought up old hurts.

But the mere idea of it, that it'd even occur to her has her chest tightening with guilt, the mask she's trying so hard to keep steady beginning to crack so she forces herself to look away, letting Marceline win their little staring contest, and resolves not to look up at her again. "I sincerely doubt that."

The feeling that her voice gives too much away tickles at the back of her throat as she pushes the black hair off of her hands, reaching for her wire cutters and, being careful not to accidently shear any of those silky strands, begins cutting away the useless and frayed wires.

She can _hear_ Marceline's pout, which, good. Good because she's already decided she's done engaging the Vampire Queen in whatever this is, and hopefully her lack of response will be taken as the hint that it is and the shadow of the figure floating above her will disappear, leaving her to her work.

Alone.

With the wires out of her way, at least the ones she's deemed unnecessary, the microchips come next and she's pulling on her glasses for this part, increasing the magnification and reaching for her more delicate tools. This is where it gets tricky, she'll have to remove these carefully, examine each one to determine if they're too damaged to salvage, and to try to figure out which one serves the function that she's searching for.

Engrossed in her work, she allows all other thoughts to bleed away, breathing shallow as she manages to get one removed with a little grunt, the back of it having been nearly fused onto the plastic of the interior. She blinks a few times, standing up straight with her forceps between her fingers, holding it up to the light, bringing it close to her face to inspect it, turning it over and mouthing aloud whatever letters she can find of the extremely small text on the side. She thinks she's managed to find the letter 'a', and that's when Marceline who _of course_ is _still here_ swoops in and snatches the salvaged tech before Bonnibel can even reach out to stop her,

Leave it to her to, for once, wait _quietly_ until her guard is down. "So what even _is_ this thing? Like, what does it _do?_ "

But the questions fall on deaf ears because all Bonnibel can think is that Marceline is getting her skin, her sweaty, greasy, oily skin all over the exposed microchips, likely damaging them further and although she _knows_ the Vampire Queen is far too high up for her to reach, Bonnibel finds herself jumping a little, hands in the air.

"Marceline! Give that back right now!"

But of course she only floats higher in reply, grinning wide and turning upside down again, that silky hair falling _just_ out of reach. "Does it even work anymore? How do you turn it on?" She turns it over in her hands, pouts. "Well I guess you can't since you opened it and junk."

Ruined. It's ruined. Fingerprints all over the screen, oils on the microchips. It's hard not to be frustrated, not to raise her voice. "I'm not sure how it works! That's what I'm trying to figure out! But if you keep getting your oilyfingers all over it then it'll really be busted and neither of us will ever know so could you just _give it back?"_

At least, she can't help but think, Marceline has the decency to look _slightly_ sheepish. "Oh." She glances at the screen, then back at her, her lips twitching. "Wait a sec, oily? My hands are _clean_ thanks."

But she's just huffing in reply, hands on her hips. "I don't believe that for a second." And it's meant to be something of a jab, not an insult but Marceline certainly wasn't supposed to take it in _that_ direction, and the grin that comes to those pale lips is all too familiar. It has her looking away, cheeks beginning to burn with a flush despite how much she tries to will it down.

"You're probably right…Then again," And then that voice dips _low,_ in a way that has her breath catching, has memories cropping up without her consent, flashing behind her eyes in vivid detail. "I don't remember you ever complaining about my hands before, or my _fingers_."

" _Marceline_!" She shouts, loud enough that her voice echoes across the expanse of her lab. Her whole face is burning now, with shame or embarrassment or something else entirely she isn't sure and she's looking up again, holding out her hand and leveling another glare at the woman above her. "Return my work to me immediately!"

And if she weren't looking she may have missed it, may not have seen her flinch or the shadow of regret that passes over that pale face because it's gone a split second later. Marceline just rolls her eyes, keeping her lips quirked in that grin but it's too forced now, stretching across her face all wrong and the sight of it cools something seething in her chest, has her taking deeper breaths, trying to control her frustration.

Nobody pushes her buttons as easily as Marceline can, and she tries very hard not to think on why that may be.

"Yeah sure, here." The vampire begins floating down as she holds her hand out expectantly, waiting for the return of her property. "Oh, I got my fingerprints all over it, one sec." And then Bonnibel realizes she's going to use her shirt to try and wipe it all clean, which would really just smear the prints around, but more than that it could possibly cause a static shock to the interior and that has Bubblegum jumping up the rest of the way, gripping at Marceline's wrist and tugging. "Wait, wait! Don't wipe it!"

That familiar figure turns right-side up again, allowing her body to float just a little lower and it's enough for Bonnibel to reach with her free hand for the piece of tech, setting it down carefully onto her work table.

Her other hand is still holding onto a pale wrist.

' _Let go._ ' She tells herself, throat working uselessly. ' _Let go_.'

But she doesn't. She doesn't and instead looks up, meeting those dark eyes, fixating onto them as they stare back into her own, with a depth in them that has her swallowing dryly, has all that previous annoyance, frustration, panic, falling away.

Because Marceline doesn't look at her like that, not anymore, not since…

"Marceline, why did you come here today?"

She shouldn't ask questions she doesn't want to know the answer to.

Then again she shouldn't lie to herself either.

"I…" Those dark eyes flick down to the point where their skin meets and Bonnibel is following her line of sight, breathing shallow, aware, too aware of the texture of Marceline's skin, the urge to stroke her thumb across the pulse point at her wrist. Their eyes meet again and she's swallowing thickly as her grip is broken, without any real aggression and her own pulse begins thud incessantly in her ears when Marceline, consciously or not, brings that arm to her chest, cupping it with her free hand and holding it against her as if it were something precious, like Hambo, and not her own limb. "I was just bored, is all. S-Sorry for bugging you, I'll just…"

But she's jumping up again before she can even think on it, no longer caring if the action is childish or degrading. She just jumps, managing to grasp Marceline's wrist again, holding her in place as best as she can so she doesn't fly away and those eyes aren't meeting hers anymore but she _wants_ them to be.

She wants to _see_ her again, as she really is, without the mask of nonchalance that always blankets Marceline's face whenever they see each other. Her throat is heavy when she speaks, breathing hard. "That's not it, is it?" Marceline isn't looking at her, and it takes all of Bonnibel's willpower to keep holding on as she searches for words, _any_ words.

"Are…Are you lonely, perhaps?"

It's the wrong thing to say. She knows immediately, curses herself as the vampire's entire body stiffens, that mask falling over her face as quick as it ever has and suddenly Marceline's tugging hard at her at her wrist, trying to free herself. "What? N-No way! I was just- Like I said I was bored but you're a total wet blanket who's no fun at all so it's _whatever._ " She tries again to tug herself free and Bonnibel tells herself that she should just _let her go_ but, no, no she's tired of letting go.

"Bonnie, get off! I'll stop bugging you just like you wanted okay?! Just-"

"You're not bugging me!" The words spill from her lips before she has the chance to put them through any of her normal filters, and maybe that's for the best because she's _tired_ suddenly. Tires of having to use filters around Marceline, tired of this game they're playing with each other, with themselves. Tired and she misses her favorite pajama shirt, she misses the person who gave it to her, but she's not sure how to say it, not sure when just talking to each other became so _hard._ Dark eyes meet hers and there's naked surprise in them, disbelief, so she squares her shoulders, meets them head on, hoping she can convey some of the desperation she's feeling, hoping she can swallow down the urge to hide it like always.

"You're not bugging me, Marceline."

Pale lips crash against hers.

The angle is all wrong, Marceline is still floating above her, her wrist still caught in her hand and soft hair is brushing across her face because it's still quite obviously subject to gravity but all that falls away, becomes white noise because those lips are against hers, for the first time in _so long,_ kissing her so hard she nearly stumbles, nearly falters, her free hand burying itself in silky locks, tugging, trying to bring her closer.

She's standing on the tips of her toes, trying to reach her better, trying to kiss her deeper, and it isn't some deep realization when she thinks that she's missed this, she _knows_ she has, she thinks of it every morning when she wakes up, every night before bed. Has wanted it and craved it and all the reasons why they couldn't do this, why they _shouldn't_ don't even register anymore. She parts her lips, a forked tongue brushes along hers, almost as sharp as the fangs that used to sink into her neck and tease the pink from her skin and-

Marceline pulls back with a gasp, and Bonnibel doesn't realize long she went without air until she feels her chest begin to heave, her lips tingling, starting to swell but she doesn't care because those lips are still so close to hers, warm breath fanning her cheeks and she wants this, wants more, wants wake up every morning to the scent of her without having to try and draw it from the depths of a shirt now lost to her. "Stay, _please_."

But it can't be the same as last time, so she lets go of Marceline's wrist.

She lets go and turns away because it's easier than looking, easier than facing the possibility that Marceline might still leave, that she allowed herself to be vulnerable, to _ask,_ to be _kissed,_ just to be rejected. She lets go because this isn't going to be like before, she isn't going to push, she'll ask, just once, and if Marceline says no, if she leaves then…well. It wouldn't be the first time.

But it might be the last.

Bonnibel stares down at her work table, reaches for her tools but stops halfway, forcing in a slow breath, willing her never ending curiosity to for once settle down. She doesn't want to look, she hears rustling fabric and the hair that brushes across her own pulls away and she bites at her lips, palms pressing flat to the work table.

She nearly startles when she sees pale skin in the corner of her vision, head snapping up and Marceline is there, sitting beside her atop the edge of her work desk, one leg crossed over the other, lower lip caught between sharp teeth with a flush dusting her cheeks and...and their eyes meet. Just for a second before Marceline looks away, lips twitching.

"So…what'd you need that junk for?" She gestures to the abandoned technology.

Black hair spills across the surface of her desk and Bonnibel moves her hand an inch to the left, allowing her fingers to slide through those dark strands. Their eyes meet again, and she fights the urge to smile, but it bleeds through anyway. "Well, I'm more interested in the touch screen actually, but to explain why I'll have to tell you a little story…"

-END-


End file.
